


Mind Eraser

by ourladyofsorrows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Destiel - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Season 8, mentions of Naomi - Freeform, mentions of Sam Winchester - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourladyofsorrows/pseuds/ourladyofsorrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the night  Cas almost killed him in the crypt, Dean’s been praying to him for explanations. When the angel finally shows up, he’s drunk and visibly overwhelmed by a realization.<br/>At some point Dean has to put two and two together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Eraser

**Author's Note:**

> This fiction was beta'd by [missplumpudding](http://missplumpudding.tumblr.com//), whom I want to thank so much for her help and for being so incredibly supportive.
> 
> First time ever writing a fanfiction, so feedback is welcome.  
> I don't own Dean or Cas, but if you do, please send them over.
> 
> Title from the homonymous Black Keys song.

  
Dean’s room is quiet when he steps in and turns the lights on. He’s finally convinced Sam to close the damn books and go to sleep, and he knows he could use a few hours himself, but he’s been having a hard time falling asleep since the night they found the angel tablet. All things considered, it’s no wonder, really.  
  
He pours himself a drink in the opaque glass he’s been keeping around all week and sits on his bed, leaning his back against the headboard. The liquid burns slightly in his throat as he sips, and it’s a familiar and somewhat comforting sensation. It’s the same thing every night: he drinks from his glass, prays to Castiel, waits for a few seconds just to witness that he doesn’t show up, gets mad or sad, depending on what he’s drinking, and then drinks some more to lull himself to sleep.  
  
Nothing changes tonight. He stops praying, allows himself exactly two looks around the empty room, and then turns to the bottle on his desk. This is bullshit. It’s not like Castiel hasn’t answered his prayers before, but a guy can only humiliate himself so many nights in a row. And he’s not dying to sit and have a conversation either, but shit happened in that crypt and he needs some explanations. He can just tell there’s dirt in there somewhere, and honestly, he can’t believe Cas has picked this precise moment to pull this kind of crap. Dammit man, he thinks, rubbing his hand on his forehead, how bad can it be?  
  
 The heavy noise of someone entering the room suddenly interrupts his thoughts, and Dean quickly puts down the bottle and hides his glass, turning to the door to ask Sam where he thinks he’s going and why he isn’t in bed. He’s faced by Castiel instead, who’s leaning on a pile of boxes precariously stacked on top of each other against the wall. His shirt is creased and he’s blinking very slowly, squeezing his eyes like he’s trying to put the room in focus.  
  
“Cas,” Dean exclaims, standing up immediately. “Cas, are you okay?” He moves closer to help him regain some balance, and a familiar smell stings his nostrils. “Cas, are you… drunk?” he asks, astonished. “What happened? Where’s the tablet?”  
  
The angel raises one hand as if to gain time.  
 “Hidden,” he answers with a voice that sounds hoarse even for him. “For a bit.”

  
Dean raises his eyebrows, but soon enough his surprise is overcome by annoyance. “Really, man? I pray to you for a whole week and you don’t even bother to pick up the phone. And when you do come, you show up hammered? Saying you’ve ‘hidden the tablet for a bit?’”  
  
“Dean,” Castiel says, raising his eyes and giving him that look he reserves for when he thinks Dean’s being childish, uncooperative, or possibly, thick. “You may want to lower your tone, unless you want your brother to wake up. Plus, if I wanted to,” he air quotes, “‘pick up the phone’ I believe I would have done so.”

And just, wow. Cranky. “Yeah, well, what the hell happened then?” Dean says. “Last time you got trashed, you were pissed at…”  
  
“God,” Cas cuts in sharply.  
   
“Right. So who is it this time? Is it Naomi…?”  
  
“Oh no, it’s still God,” Cas spits out in a fake cheerful tone, his body billowing with it. “I mean, of course I’m… _pissed_ … at Naomi, but Him,” he says, looking up with a bitter laugh, “ah, He’s a good one, isn’t He?”  
  
By this point, Dean is lost. What the hell, man? The one time Cas answers his prayer, he’s completely intoxicated and rambling about God, who has little to do with anything anymore, as far as Dean is concerned. It’s not like he likes the guy, but you can’t really get mad at someone who’s not there.  
  
“Okay, look.” Dean lowers his head and shakes it a little, as if to clear his mind. “Why don’t you sit here for a second, possibly without going all MIA on me again,” he says, trying to lead Cas to the bed, “and I’ll go get you some water, or coffee…or something.”  
As he adds that, he realizes that coffee probably wouldn’t have any effect on Cas even if he made him swallow the equivalent of a bathtub.  
  
And even if Cas has some difficulty standing straight on his own, he sure seems dead-set on not moving, since Dean’s efforts don’t succeed in making him take a single step.  
  
“No, Dean, you don’t understand,” the fake smile is still on Cas’s lips. “ _This,_ ” he says in a conspiratorial tone, gesturing vaguely to the room, “all of this,” he adds, clenching at the collar of Dean’s shirt, “is His doing.”  
  
Cas stares at him, his eyes like saucers, at a distance from his face that definitely doesn’t respect the personal space they talked about. Dean is starting to think maybe it’s not just booze this time, the guy’s delirious. What’s the effect of acid on an angel again?  
  
Cas looks at him like he’s just given him the best and worst news of the year, and Dean can’t do much but keep peering at him, not sure how to explain to him that he’s not making a bit of sense.

  
“You don’t…understand?” Cas says, still clenching at Dean’s shirt and starting to look slightly hysterical. “Ha, you don’t understand!” The corners of his mouth drop and he violently lets go, lowering his head, a dark expression now on his face. Dean takes a step back and studies the angel attentively.  
He has only seen Cas show this kind of mood swing once, when he was possessed by the Leviathans, and that memory is still far too fresh in Dean’s mind for his liking.

Cas inhales and exhales once.  
  
He tries to say something. “After…what happened, in the crypt… I needed to understand...what, why…” he shakes his head peevishly.  
  
“I… I started to remember,” he begins again, slowly and dead serious, struggling to formulate each sentence because of the alcohol in his vessel’s blood, “the, uh, the things Naomi would say to me… What she made me do…”  

And, oh. So that’s what this is about. Dean sits on the edge of the footboard of his bed, which creaks under his weight. He faces Cas, waiting for him to elaborate and still vaguely wondering what the hell God has to do with this.  
  
“She detected my… weaknesses,” Cas goes on, glancing up at Dean for a second, then looking away. “She studied me, she monitored my reactions, she brainwashed me!” His look goes almost blank.  
  
“And when I ran, she spread that information on angel radio, so now every angel knows!” His hands fly to his face and then tangle in his hair, distressed.  
  
Dean blinks. “Every angel knows what?”  
  
Cas looks at him, helpless with desperate frustration. Then he shakes his head and looks away. He’s silent for a few seconds, staring pensively at the wall and looking as if he’s recollecting his thoughts or memories. As if a film is being projected just for him, right before his eyes.  
  
Eventually, he grits his teeth, his whole body starts shaking, and he breaks, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.  
“I was an Angel of the Lord,” he shouts, eyes wide and sunken. “I was a soldier,  I never disobeyed an order, never let a brother down, never lost one fight. Look at what happened to me! And He knew it, God knew it! He had planned it all along, He made me… to fail.” Cas’s face is a mask of pain and anger.  
He breathes hard before turning to Dean. “Remember 2014?”  
  
In the midst of that flow of words, Dean holds on to a moment of clarity. “You know what happened in 2014?” he asks, surprised. “I never told you that, how do you know what happened in 2014?”  
  
Cas meets Dean’s gaze with his piercing light blue eyes. “Because it was going to happen. That wasn’t a vicious projection made up by Zachariah. It was the truth. We know what happened in the past and what’s going to happen. Of course, angels aren’t apprised of all of God’s plans.”  Dean doesn’t miss the spite he puts in that word. “But when an event is impending, it’s given forth to us. In the end, you took a different turn, you twisted your destiny and changed our fate, but I knew all along what was going to happen. And I stayed!” he cries as if he’s just announced the conclusive proof of his degeneracy.  
  
Then Cas looks away with a rushing movement, and Dean thinks he’s going to need a few minutes to process what he’s saying.  
  
“I just… don’t understand.” Cas’s voice is heavy, and Dean perceives defeat in it.  
  
 “You son of a bitch!” Cas roars once again, this time at the ceiling. “Why choose me? Why have _me_ raise him from Hell?”

A shiver runs through Dean’s back.

  
“What was Your plan? Was it _this_ that You were aiming for?”  
  
Eventually, when no response comes, Cas averts his eyes from the squalid ceiling and looks at the floor, swallowing hard.  
   
“Why trust me with His design when He knew I was going to fail?” Cas says again. “He must have known I was going to be ready to give everything up. The shadow of regret never even touched me… Always bringing me back knowing I was coming back to you, every time, without fail.” He closes his eyes for a second, tilting slightly his head to the side, his expression pained by his understanding of his own misery.

  
“I was always going to fall.” He looks like it hurts to speak. “I was always going to fall… for you.”  
  
His eyes widen at the realization “Long before I laid my hand on you in Hell…”

He looks straight at Dean  “The moment you were born, I was lost.”  
  
Dean’s mouth drops open, but he doesn’t notice. Of all the things a drunk Castiel could have said, he wasn’t expecting this. He tries to make plausible sense of what he just heard, something he could just talk out and later drown in two fingers of amber liquid, like he always does, but he can’t.

  
The worst is that Cas is an angel, and hell if he knows of what he’s saying and what it sounds like. And come on now, it can’t be what it sounds like, he tries to convince himself. But Dean is human, as much as he doesn’t like it, and he has experience with how damn feelings work. He isn’t stupid, he can put two and two together. Can Cas even understand what he’s saying?  
  
He just keeps staring at him, unable to fathom what to say, peering at his eyes, then his face, then the tie around his neck, and his stupid coat, and back again to his eyes and all over again. Again and again.  
Cold’s creeping  everywhere up Dean’s body, except for his chest and face, which feel warm. He finds he has a hard time swallowing. He finds he has a terrible time thinking.  
  
Eventually, he manages, “Cas, what did Naomi say to you?” The words come out slightly choked and he tries again.  
“What was your weakness?”  
  
Cas looks at him the moment the question leaves his lips, and Dean immediately regrets it. He’s doing it again, the stupid thing with his head where he cocks it to the side, eyes earnest and clear, like he’s trying to carve something directly into Dean’s soul. Dean can read many things in them: self-pity, sadness,  awareness, and he’s not sure if Cas is just not hiding them or if he’s not even aware he’s letting them show.

“Do you need to ask?” Cas says simply. Dean looks down guiltily.  
  
For a while, neither of them speaks, each lost in his own thoughts. Everything in the room is static, and the air is thick. Not loaded, but warm.  
  
Then Cas tentatively takes a step forward, and even if he staggers a little, he seems to have regained a pretty good level of lucidity at this point. Dean thinks briefly that this booze thing works funny on angels.  
  
“You know, Dean, Naomi… She wasn’t always training me to kill you…”

  
“What, you needed training?” asks Dean, glad he has something to say this time.

  
Cas almost smiles “You could say I was… reluctant.”  
  
Dean doesn’t have to make an effort to remember the angel looked pretty convinced in the crypt. For a second, he contemplates with a hint of horror about which methods Naomi must have tested on him to achieve that result. _Because of him_. He shakes his head and fights that thought off before it can swallow him whole.  
  
“At first,” Cas goes on, “she tried to talk me into getting you to give me the tablet and go back to Heaven, obviously under her ‘custody’. She said it was for the best, for everyone.” Cas slowly takes a step forward.  “She said all kinds of things, Naomi.” He keeps moving, looking steadier. Dean would wonder where he’s going with this, but he’s already learnt it’s no use to guess at this point.  
  
“She said angels are not meant to mingle with humans.”

  
“Yeah, sounds like a pretty popular opinion among you feathery pricks,” Dean scoffs.

  
Cas ignores that.  
“She said humans are slaves to their passions,”  he’s stepping closer with each word, “And that you would turn us into slaves too.”

  
When he’s right before Dean, he stops, personal space once again blatantly ignored.  
Dean glances at Cas suspiciously. He’s looking at him oddly, not just intently, which he always is, but pondering.  
  
“She lied, too, obviously.” Cas adds softly. “She said, every time I get too close to you, your heart jumps.” He cocks his head again, and suddenly Dean can feel the heat raising underneath his shirt. No matter what Cas thinks he’s doing, things are not taking this turn, this is not going to be brought up  “…And your blood starts rushing,” Cas continues. Dean clenches his jaw.

  
Cas moves one hand to Dean’s wrist, as if to check his pulse, and that’s the moment Dean realizes he’s really screwed. Because his heart is pounding so hard in his chest Cas can probably hear it from where he’s standing. There’s no denying it. Cas smiles at the floor and lets go of his arm.  
  
“I told her that it was impossible and that it didn’t mean anything.” Cas leans in and whispers in his ear, “But right now your pupils are dilated.” Dean swallows hard.  “And I can _feel_ you panting on my neck.”

  
Dean stops breathing, but then Cas reaches out to lay his warm hands on his hips, and fuck if Dean knows what he’s doing. He fires him one last, terrified look, then pulls him in and crashes their lips together.  
  
He’s relieved when Cas just goes with it, because he couldn’t face a conversation right now. Cas’s lips are soft on Dean’s, and they’re not chapped as he was expecting. They’re just dry and warm, and Dean puts one hand on the angel’s shoulder and swings his other arm around his waist to pull him closer. Then he starts moving, licking delicately at the middle of Cas’s lips to encourage him to open them. And when he does, Dean finds  Cas’s tongue with his own. The wet and hot contact makes him dizzy for a second.  He can still taste a little bit of the alcohol in Cas’s mouth, but that’s okay. He’s familiar with the taste. He also tastes need and desperation, and he’s familiar with those too.  
  
Their movements become frantic, the kiss sloppier, and when Dean opens his eyes just for a moment, he’s almost proud to see Cas’s eyes are shut, his brow furrowed in an intent expression. But soon enough, Dean’s attention is demanded elsewhere again, and he closes his eyes, tangling one hand in the hair on the back of Cas’s head as the angel actually cups his face. The touch isn’t nearly enough, though; Dean wishes he were closer to a wall so he could slam Cas against it, pin him up, and… oh god, he needs more.  
  
He breaks the kiss, fumbling with Cas’s tie instead, placing kisses under his jaw line as he slides it off around his neck and removes his coat. The angel lets it drop to the floor without a flinch and then, taking the hint, attacks Dean’s flannel eagerly.  Dean starts unbuttoning his shirt, and Cas slides his hands under Dean’s t-shirt, pulling him closer for another kiss. A small part of Dean’s brain considers that Cas may have little experience, but he sure doesn’t lack initiative.  
  
A muffled noise outside the room makes them suddenly stop. They both hold their breath, still like stones, their hands still on each other. After a few seconds, everything seems quiet. Dean thinks it was probably just Sammy moving in his sleep, and before he can stop himself, he’s back nibbling at the tender flash of Cas’s neck. Cas moans softly, and Dean’s insides quiver at the sound.  
  
Dean gingerly stops again, catching his breath. He rests his hands on Cas’s shoulders, guiding him back to put a little space between them. Cas shoots him an interrogative look, but Dean shakes his head and just leaves him there, walking to the door. He rests his hand on the door handle for a moment, peering at the dark hallway out of the door left carelessly ajar. He can sense Cas’s look burning the back of his neck.  
  
He lets out a breath, thinking this is what seals it, then closes the door.    
He turns back to Cas, and the angel looks right back, squinting his eyes.   
  
…l _ast person who looked at me like that…_  
  
 Dean suppresses a memory and a smile, and with one last look, he hurries back to Cas, scattering his boots, belt, and shirt on the floor in the process.  
  
Cas mimics his motions, and it actually makes Dean’s head spin because he’s stripping for him. The angel, Cas, is _stripping_ for him, exposing himself to him. And it’s not like he couldn’t just have made his clothes disappear, he’s choosing to do it the same way Dean has to.  
  
When they’re both just in their pants, they stay still, one step away from each other. And Dean would probably stop a moment to think about what the hell they’re doing, but Cas’s eyes linger eagerly on him. Dean can see that he _wants_ him, and that sets his guts on fire. He fills the gap between them and throws himself back at Cas.  
  
Their bodies press together tight and hot, and Dean’s hands roam everywhere over the soft skin of Cas’s back and shoulders, palming and gripping, while his tongue licks a wet stripe right up his neck. Cas exposes his throat even more, letting out a soft sound almost like a purr that goes directly between Dean’s legs. In no time, Cas is holding Dean firmly by his hips, attacking his collarbones with his mouth and kissing along the line of each protruding bone. When he brushes against the anti-possession tattoo, he opens his soft lips and traces its black lines with the tip of his tongue. Dean shivers and feels his pants shrink. His body demands more.  
  
He places his thigh between Cas’s legs, starting to move his hips and increasing the pressure on both their groins. They both moan, Dean in relief and Cas in surprise at the sudden contact.  
  
Dean opens his eyes and scrutinizes the angel’s face to check for any sign of distress, but he seems in complete awe of the sensation. Dean’s first and only impulse is to make him feel more of that, to see his mouth open a little wider, his body shake a little harder.  
  
He makes a decision, and his right hand on Cas’s waist starts sliding down, ever so slowly, until it reaches the hem of Cas’s pants. Dean cups his groin through the fabric and  Cas sucks in a sharp breath, opening his eyes wide. Dean can feel a pretty nice erection under his palm, but he still seeks for consent, because he hasn’t forgotten that time in the “den of iniquity” and Cas’s terrified face when he was told to follow Chastity.  
  
“Is this okay?” He whispers in Cas’s ear.

  
“Y…Yes.” Cas sounds breathless. 

  
“Good,” Dean replies. He bites lightly on Cas’s earlobe and slides his fingers into his pants and underwear, just to give him an idea of where this is going. The moment Cas perceives skin contact, he lets out a soft “Oooh,” and Dean takes it as his cue to open his zip and pull the angel’s pants and boxers down.     
  
Cas doesn’t seem fazed by his complete nakedness; he looks more at the mercy of all the sensations he’s experiencing for the first time. Dean takes a moment to scan his lean body with his eyes. No matter how many times Dean’s been brought back and his body mended, he always collects new signs and scars on his skin, whereas Cas’s body, even though hosting heaven’s chosen weapon and extremely lethal power, is intact, so smooth it looks somewhat innocent. And yeah, okay, this isn’t the body Cas inhabits in heaven, but it’s the one he’s always chosen in front of Dean. With Jimmy long gone, it doesn’t only belong to Cas now, it _is_ Cas. Just Cas.  
  
Dean looks at Cas’s body, and his brain instantly provides him with a million different ideas of what he could do to it. He wonders how that’s even possible. He’s not into guys, honest, because when it comes down to it he’s never really had that impulse with any other man. But he wants Cas like he’s starving for him, and he only wants him because it’s Cas. He wishes he could melt into him. He wishes Cas could crawl under his skin, and then maybe he would appease all the longing and ache.  
  
Cas is looking at him like he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking; he’s looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters in the whole of the universe. Like he _needs_ him, like he wants to eat him up.    
  
And then he caves in and practically jumps at Dean, kissing him hard and pushing him to the bed.  
Dean is pressed down to the mattress by Cas’s weight, and he’s nothing but happy about it. He wants to feel that he’s _there_ and that he’s real.

  
They move together, their bodies crashing and tangling, hands slipping between each other’s legs, hips rolling and thrusting. When he feels the angel’s hand on his groin, Dean lets out a breathy “Fuck!” dropping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Every time Dean tightens his grip around Cas’s cock, Cas gasps, muffling sounds into Dean’s skin. Cas hides his face in the crook of his shoulder, and Dean can feel him deliberately breathing in his smell before he bits down on the tender flesh. Dean screams, and fuck, that’s gonna leave a sign!  
  
“You were always a possessive little fucker,” Dean teases him as Cas casually places his hand where the scar of  his handprint used to be so visible. He thinks he can see the angel smile slyly before he briefly soothes the already reddening bite with slightly parted lips and then moves over to smack, almost reverently, a kiss on his shoulder.

That sends sparks up Dean’s spine. He grips Cas’s length firmly and jerks it slowly a couple of times before increasing his speed, moving his hand faster and rougher. When his thumb brushes the sensitive tip, Cas lets out a strangled sound, his back arching, and he instinctively starts thrusting into his hand.

  
He plants deep, lustful, and shameless kisses on Dean’s mouth, tracing the shape of his lips with his tongue. He nibbles along his jaw and presses a kiss right under Dean’s chin, covering every inch of his skin without stopping for a second. Dean’s got to admit he’s finding it hard to focus.  
  
But that doesn’t seem to matter anyway because after a second, Cas is looking him straight in the eyes. He starts sliding down, nails drawing lightly on Dean’s skin, hands tracing each side, pulling, brushing, kneading. He nibbles at Dean’s hipbone and licks a long, wet stripe from the hem of his pants up to his navel. Dean shivers and tangles his fingers in the bed sheets, inhaling and exhaling through his nose, trying to brace himself for whatever’s next.  
  
Laborious fingers unbutton Dean’s jeans and ease them down. They venture into his briefs and pull them down as well, leaving him completely exposed. The moment Cas closes his hand around him, Dean can _feel_ himself grow completely hard and thinks he’s lucky he’s already so hot and flushed because, wow, he could have blushed at that.  
  
The angel doesn’t comment. He starts stroking him firmly, licking his lips intently, and then he takes him in his hot mouth and Dean throws his head back, moaning loudly. Waves of pleasure run up his spine and he thinks he’s going to die and go to hell. Again.  
  
Cas sets a steady pace, sucking hard, swirling his tongue on the head where it starts tasting salty and bitter. He licks the underside of Dean’s length, teasing, and Dean’s fucking wrecked with it, alternating gasps and moans, his limbs weak and restless at the same time. He can’t stop himself from tangling his hands in Cas’s hair. He’s actually glad Cas places a firm hand on his hip, holding him in place, ‘cause god knows he wasn’t going to be able to hold still much longer. Right when Dean can feel every drop of his blood rush hot between his legs, Cas pulls away. Dean voices his disappointment with breathy, incoherent sounds.

  
Cas studies the taste lingering on his wet lips, licking them with the tip of his tongue, and Dean swears he’s never seen anything so sinful and hot.  
  
He can’t resist grabbing him once more and pressing him down so tightly to his chest he actually has issues breathing. Cas’s belly is warm against his own, their bodies already moving together. He can feel Cas’s hand trail a light path down the back of his thigh, along the curve of his ass, and right… _oh_.  
  
Dean opens his eyes wide. “Cas, wait… are we… I don’t… do you know… ?” he pants, trying to steady his breath.

  
 “Dean.” The angel’s eyes are barely open. “I am completely inexperienced,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips, “But I have a thorough knowledge of the human anatomy.”

And Dean can hear, even behind the usual stupidly formal words, his voice quiver with desire.  
  
His soft touch, still on Dean’s entrance, is sending all sorts of impulses up Dean’s spine.  
Dean gives in to them, dropping his head back on the mattress, breathing hard and moaning. When Cas starts pushing into him, he knows the angel’s mojoed things up a bit down there, because everything feels lubed already and Dean actually relaxes a bit. The first finger slips in pretty easily, and Dean wonders what all the fuss is about. The feeling’s weird, that’s for sure, and it’s discomforting, but it also feels strangely good. Dean almost can’t believe it. Cas moves cautiously, trying to stretch him. Dean would find it awkward if he wasn’t soon completely overwhelmed by the sudden sensation of a second finger penetrating him. And, christ, does this fucking hurt.  
  
“Son of a bitch,” he gasps

  
“Does it hurt?” Cas asks, looking at him concernedly.

  
“Yes, it does,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

  
Cas works his second finger all the way inside Dean, and when he sees him flinch, he grabs his dick, jerking him off and thrusting into him at the same pace. Dean can feel his attention getting sucked by Cas’s motion on his dick, and after a while he just feels a dull ache. When he hears Dean moan again, Cas speeds up and thrusts deeper, stretching the tight ring of muscle much to Dean’s distress and angling his fingers like he’s looking for something, crooking them and…

 “Aaah,” Dean shouts, an intense wave of pleasure shaking his body.

  
“There?” Cas asks, attentive.

  
“Yeah,” Dean replies before even thinking. What he actually meant to say was more of a what the hell was that, and well, he kinda knows what the hell that was but he definitely didn’t know it was _like that_.

  
Cas presses against his prostate another couple of times, and Dean’s hips totally jolt with it from the sharp sensation while the muscles of his thighs contract.  
  
Cas removes his fingers, looking directly at Dean as he settles firmly between his legs. Dean automatically spreads them further apart, surprising even himself.  
  
As if following his same line of thought, the angel says lowly, “I didn’t know how much I wanted this…”  
  
And Dean can feel his stomach knock over at the reality of the situation, nervous, relieved, worried and elated all at the same time. But then Cas raises his pure blue eyes, and Dean remembers he’s not alone. Whatever this mess is, they’re in it together.

Cas ever-so-slowly starts pushing into Dean. The pain is there, sharp and vibrant. Dean thinks he might not be able to go through with this, yet instead of completely screwing his eyes shut, he looks at Cas through his own lashes. Cas seems in complete awe, eyes shut, eyebrows knitted and mouth open, and muscles rippling under his skin from the effort. Once he’s entirely in, he stops to let Dean adjust, supporting himself on one arm and dropping his head, overwhelmed by the feeling. With every second, the pain gets duller. The ache is surpassed by something else as Dean notices Cas’s hard breath, his chest raise and fall quickly, his hair falling on his forehead. And he just knows he wants him, oh so much.

He moves his hips, and Cas follows him immediately, pulling out a few inches and thrusting inside him again. Slowly, and then a bit faster, and then even faster and deeper, breaking Dean’s breath, harder, and harder, setting a steady pace. When Cas finally hits the spot again, he draws a moan from Dean’s mouth and  starts slamming inside him, aiming there over and over again.  
  
In all the times he has fucked, Dean’s never felt anything like this. He can feel Cas move inside him, and for a panicked second, he thinks he could weep at the enormity of the situation and the intensity of the feeling.  
Each thrust sends electricity up his body. Dean feels as if his nervous system is failing, as if he can’t keep track of every sensation his body is registering, every inch of his skin and muscles abused to keep those waves of pleasure coming. He closes his clenching hand around Cas’s wrist, and for a second, Cas moves to squeeze it with his own before shifting to Dean’s dick, stroking it.  
  
Dean pulls Cas down, swallowing a moan inside his throat and kissing him hard and feverish. He sticks his tongue into Cas’s mouth as Cas pounds inside him. It’s so hot Dean’s head spins with it. Apparently, it has an impact on the angel too, since he starts moaning desperately, both of his shaky arms now supporting his weight and his thrusts becoming faster and more imprecise. Dean realizes Cas is close, and he can feel is own orgasm building too, so he starts stroking his dick hard and fast himself.

Cas stammers unarticulated segments of phrases and moans between each thrust. “Dean… I don’t… I can’t… Aaaah…”

  
“Fuck, you can’t… C’mon Cas… Fuck, aaah, fuck!”  
  
Cas’s dick twitches inside Dean, and he comes with a breathless moan. Dean feels heat course inside him, and he looks at Cas coming undone under his gaze. The moment he formulates the thought that he’s the cause for that, he’s coming hard too, making a mess of their bellies and sheets. His expression contorts and his whole body convulses.  
  
Cas collapses on top of him, still shaking and breathing hard as their orgasms wear off. He doesn’t move or say anything, seemingly overwhelmed by everything that happened in the last few hours.  
As Dean slowly comes back to his mind, he thinks of how unfair it is for something like this to happen to Cas, to happen to both of them, when their memories are so full of horrors and their lives constantly in danger. He folds his arms around Cas’s shoulders and neck, not sure if he’s doing it to reassure Cas or himself.  
  
For an indeterminable amount of time, they lay still, neither of them saying anything.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Cas murmurs in his ear after a while.

  
“For what?” Dean holds him tighter.

  
“For what happened in the crypt,” the angel finally answers, taking a moment. But Dean can hear it in his voice that he’s not just apologizing for that. He’s apologizing for not answering to his prayers, for that time in Purgatory, for when he lied, for when he disappeared, for everything that ever went wrong and for what’s going to happen this time.  
  
“You’re leaving,” Dean realizes.

  
Cas doesn’t reply, and Dean can feel the pain engulfing both of their chests.

  
“You don’t have to leave,” Dean says, voice filled with hardly-restrained anguish. “We can hide the tablet, we can figure something out…”

  
“I can’t,” Cas says softly, “they know.”

  
Dean swallows hard and nods, staring at the ceiling.    
“But don’t go missing. Answer my prayers.”

  
“Dean…” Cas starts defiantly.

  
“Please,” Dean adds, throat tight.

  
 Cas holds still for a moment, then he nods in the crook of Dean’s neck.

  
 “And don’t go now. Just… for now.”

  
Cas raises his head and meets his eyes. Dean feels ashamed he has to ask that, but he doesn’t look away. Finally, Cas lowers his head back on Dean’s shoulder, his hair brushing his cheek, and Dean relaxes, sighing and feeling exhaustion prevail over him, lulling him to sleep in Cas’s arms.  
  
  
-  
  
When he returns to consciousness, Dean feels his eyes burn, telling him it’s only been a few hours since he fell asleep. Muffled noises come from outside his room, a sign Sam’s probably waking up and getting ready to go on a run for breakfast. Or maybe he’s already leafing through old books.

  
He can’t feel Cas’s weight on his chest, and he snaps his eyes open, finding out he’s in clean sheets and laying on his side. He panics in spite of himself, until he realizes one of his arms is draped over Cas’s waist. He’s laying right next to him with his back to him.

  
When he feels Dean move, Cas caresses his arm, brushing slightly at his fingers, almost tickling the tips. Dean knows he won’t leave without permission this time, and he knows he has to let him go, but it must be barely past dawn outside, the world is still asleep, and Sam won’t expect him up for at least a couple of hours.  
  
“Not yet,” he barely whispers against the skin of Cas’s back, ‘cause he knows the angel can hear him.  
He slides his arm around Cas a bit tighter, pulling him closer, and places a small kiss on his neck.

  
Cas looks down at Dean’s hand on his belly for a moment, then he reaches out.  
He covers Dean’s hand with his own and interlocks their fingers, squeezing tight.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
